


Personified UST

by MalMuses



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Both about the crack and the dicks, Canon Universe, Castiel and Dean Winchester Need to Use Their Words, Castiel/Dean Winchester UST, Dean/Cas/Destiel, Emotions Personified, Friends to Lovers, In case its not clear this is pretty cracky, Jack is such a supportive bean, Kinda like fuck or die except its fuck or your stuck with this annoying UST man forever, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, Personification of UST, Porn With Plot, Resolution of sexual tension, Shipper Sam, There are a lot of dicks here, Threesome - M/M/M, UST is a character and his name is Destiel, Witches, You Have Been Warned, spells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 21:22:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17988737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalMuses/pseuds/MalMuses
Summary: An accidental summoning of the personification of Dean and Castiel's unresolved sexual tension leaves both Dean and Cas with some embarrassing confessions to make, and the bunker even more full of UST than ever.It doesn't get any less awkward when Sam nicknames him Destiel.This is cracky PWP, if you were expecting better of me, well... I don't know why you would have been.Art by Foxymoley <3





	Personified UST

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NadiaHart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NadiaHart/gifts).



> **This fic is for[Hartless.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NadiaHart/profile) <3**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **Happy Birthday Nads, you are an awesome human and we loves ya!**
> 
>  
> 
> **\- Mal and Foxy <3**
> 
>  
> 
> Check out [Foxymoley over here!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxymoley/pseuds/foxymoley)
> 
> With thanks to [jscribbles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jscribbles/pseuds/jscribbles) for encouragement, squees, cackles, and gifs, with thanks to [zipegs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zipegs) for her thorough beta, and to [SOBS](https://archiveofourown.org/users/son_of_a_bitch_spn_family/pseuds/son_of_a_bitch_spn_family) for saving my ass. You star, you.

 

Witches.

Why’d it always have to be witches?

Dean sighed, peeling another black trash bag off the roll so that they could scoop the wet, goopy remains of something—oh God, or someone—off the basement floor. He was fairly sure that North Carolina was well below the water table and shouldn’t even have basements, if this drippy, damp, foul-smelling little dungeon was anything to go by. But, that was witches for you. Why do your gross ritual somewhere clean, when you could make it even more icky?

 _Gross, gross, gross,_ Dean fumed to himself internally.

A small whining sound from the corner of the room brought Dean’s head up and out of the gunk on the floor. It was Jack, slightly pale, holding up a skull. It wasn’t a human skull, so that was a plus, but it was still quite sticky.

“Ugh,” said Sam, eloquently.

“I think it was a dog,” said Jack, utterly dejected.

Dean shook his head slowly. “Just bag it. Don’t look, don’t think, just bag it.”

“Wise advice,” Castiel said dryly from next to Dean, holding Dean’s trash bag for him and flapping it slightly. “This is one of those cases where you and Sam should be profoundly grateful for your human sense of smell.”

Dean grimaced, looking up at Cas while he deposited a jar of a suspiciously yellow liquid (with what looked like roof nails floating in it) deep into the trash bag. “Eww. Sorry buddy. Angel perks aren’t always all they’re cracked up to be, huh?”

With a wet thump, Cas dropped a black chunk of something-or-other into the trash with one hand. “Increasingly so as the years go on,” he agreed.

They worked quickly and had the basement cleared—though far from clean—before the hour was out.

The house would have been a nice one, Dean thought, if it hadn’t been for the witchy occupation. Set in a grove of trees, deep in the Carolina countryside not too far from the famous Biltmore Estate, the building was nearly a hundred years old and surrounded by beautiful gardens. Rather witchy gardens, they’d discovered, when Sam had tripped into a patch of bindweed that took its name quite literally.

The witches had gone down fairly easily, most of them being toward the “elderly hag” end of the stereotype rather than young and buxom, to Dean’s disappointment. They’d had some strong magic, but it was nothing a few swift kicks in the face couldn’t fix.

Having the free run of the place when they were gone, team free will had unanimously decided that the whole house should be stripped of the remains of the witches’ residence before calling the police. Of course, that involved letting Sam raid the library for anything dangerous (or just interesting) that they should take back to the bunker in a curse bag.

That’s where it all went wrong.

Dean was definitely paying attention to what he was doing. He definitely wasn’t distracted by the way the early evening light from the floor-to-ceiling window was hitting Cas just right, haloing around his head and putting his cheekbones into soft focus.

Alright, so perhaps a _little_ distracted.

Cas looked up. Dean was caught, found staring and trapped in Cas’ intense, vivid blue gaze. After a much longer moment than would have been polite anywhere, Dean dragged his eyes back down to the desk he stood next to, working through the items littering its surface with Jack. (Or supposedly working through them, at any rate.)

Dean hadn’t been paying attention to Jack at all, so he wasn’t sure when the kid had first noticed the book.

All he saw from the corner of his eye were Jack’s hands moving up from the surface of the desk, fingers wrapping around the ancient-looking book spine as he selected it.

The book was a hefty, red leather thing. It was handwritten, and from the way Cas’ nose wrinkled at it when he noticed, Dean just _knew_ that the leather was real human skin or some shit.

Jack squinted at it curiously, and wandered across the room with it toward Sam, who was distributing the curse bags they’d grabbed from the car. Can never take too many of those on a witch case.

It was like slow motion, for Dean.

Jack opened the book, one finger trailing slowly down the page.

Then his lips parted and began to move…

And Dean and Cas both launched themselves across the room at the same time.

“NO! JACK!”

“NEVER do that, Jesus kid—”

A huge poof of red smoke materialized from the book pages. It _whooshed_ upwards like a rose-smelling mushroom cloud, before darting forward to smack both Cas and Dean so hard in the chest that it knocked them both off their feet.

One second they were upright, mid-sprint toward Jack, the next they were sprawled in a tangled mess on the floor.

“ _Oof,_ ” said Dean, while Cas’ grumpy silence spoke for itself.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” Jack was absolutely horrified, quickly running toward Sam with the book and dropping it into the spelled bag he was already holding open.

“Jack!” Sam shouted, before catching himself and making an obvious effort to calm down, though his voice still carried some panic. “You know better, you _never_ read from an unknown spell book!”

Dean and Cas awkwardly untangled themselves with a series of grunts and flushed apologies. Cas fully extracted his arm from where it had ended up wrapped around Dean’s waist underneath his jacket, and Dean very slowly pulled back his knee from being sandwiched between Cas’ thighs.

They were both fluorescent pink in the face from the jumble, to Sam’s delight.

“You good, you two? No extra heads, compulsion to tell the truth, nothing like that?” Sam waved his hands. “Just a sudden urge to act out the Kama Sutra?”

“Sam is hilarious,” said Dean dryly, before giving Sam a sarcastic grin. “Nope, can still lie.”

Sam grinned back at Dean, before looking over at Cas, who was still sat on the floor in a grumpy puddle of tan. “How about you, buddy?”

The angel opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, looking unsure.

Dean reached a hand down to him. “Up ya get, Cas. Hey, how about… tell us that I love witches.”

Cas squinted as he clambered up off the library floor. “But you hate—Oh. Yes, indeed. Dean loves witches.”

“Great.” Sam clapped his hands. “No immediate harm done then, it seems. We’ll just keep an eye on you for a day or two. Speak up if anything is weird, okay guys?”

Dean and Cas both nodded, and Sam turned back to Jack, who stood to the side looking mournful.

“See, nothing to worry about. Just be careful, okay?”

“Yes, Sam,” Jack nodded solemnly.

And so, the four of them filled the rest of their bags, loaded up Baby, and headed home for long, hot showers.

 

 

Driving from North Carolina to Kansas was a hefty trip; about seventeen hours all in all. Dean hadn’t slept—something odd was buzzing under his skin while he drove, keeping his hands on the wheel and his eyes determinedly on the road. Cas had been shotgun, a snoring Sam sprawled across the back seat, taking up way too much space, and Jack sat squashed up serenely against the other door.

In his younger days, driving such a crazy number of hours would have been par for the course on a hunt, but he couldn’t manage that kind of insanity at forty. Or at least, not usually.

Somehow though, the quiet of the drive was lifted by an old mixtape that Cas had pulled out of his duffle with a smile. They hummed along, and Dean tried to ignore the sensation of silent, electric noise that Cas always created when he did that thing—that thing where he just stared at the side of Dean’s face while they drove. For some reason, that particular day, that particular drive, it kept Dean awake.

Even back at the bunker, he didn’t rest well. They all fell into bed in their respective rooms, or drifted off to the library to do whatever the heck they did when the sun was down.  But the itch under Dean’s skin kept growing. There was something he needed, something he couldn’t put words to, something he was growing desperate for.

The tension in his muscles must be from too long in the car, he decided. The bunker’s amazing water pressure helped a little, and he tucked himself into bed, hoping that the strange feeling would pass by morning.

Well, it passed alright.

“Oh, you’re awake!” A delighted, breathless voice crowded Dean’s personal space as he struggled awake.

Dean didn’t so much wake up as saunter vaguely in the direction of consciousness over a long hour, usually. But strange voices in his ear really helped speed up the process.

Gun already in motion from beneath the pillow, he creaked open one eye. “Cas?” he croaked, his brain providing the only name that could possibly be standing that close to him.

But not this time.

Instead, there was a total stranger, leaning over Dean’s bed with eager, longing eyes and an excited grin. “No, no, not Castiel!” the man practically purred, winking down at Dean. “Though we should find him, for sure.”

“AHHH!” Dean said articulately.

Only seconds after his scream, Dean’s bedroom door flew open with the weight of a socked Sam behind it. Running feet in the corridor announced Cas and Jack.

They all peered in at Dean, kneeling on the bed, his gun to the stranger’s face.

“Who—What—” Sam asked, blinking, a handgun of his own waving at the man who still leaned over the mattress.

Everyone stared at everyone else.

“Explain yourself,” Cas growled at the stranger, stepping up toward the bed. He already had his angel blade settled in his hand, Dean noticed.

The man’s eyes drifted from Dean to settle upon Cas as he approached.

He was dressed kind of oddly, Dean decided. He was wearing a coat, much the same shape as the trench that Castiel wore, but it was quite a snazzy-looking number—a little more tailored than the angel's, and in a blue and green plaid. A loose tie hung around his neck, over a white dress shirt and nice, dark jeans, like the ones Dean wore when he really wanted to score. His hair was a bit wild like Cas’ too, Dean realized, except his was a sandy, dark blond.

“Castiel,” he said, drifting languidly toward the angel, fearless. “I mean you no harm. Not to mention, you cannot harm me, as you created me, and I am built solely of magic.”

Cas blinked slowly.

The man—or creature, or spell, or whatever—extended his palm toward Cas, as if wanting to shake his hand.

Uncertain, Cas’ eyes flickered over toward Dean before he begrudgingly extended his hand in turn. “I created you? We did?” he asked.

The man reached forward, grinning gleefully. Rather than shake Cas’ hand, he bent over forward dramatically, pressing his lips to Cas’ knuckles with a loud, over the top smooching noise.

Dean spluttered, loudly.

Cas made a small, confused sound.

“Uh,” said Jack.

Sam cleared his throat. “Jack, how about you, uh—go make sure the door is locked, yeah?”

Jack nodded, slipping out of the room with an odd look on his face.

The man seemed undeterred, pressing kisses further up the back of Cas’ hand, pushing up the sleeve of his coat to begin to trail them up his arm. The man’s eyebrows waggled. “ _Enchanté_ , Castiel,” he purred.

“Alright, Gomez Addams,” Dean barked, swiping at the guy with his pillow. “Knock it off!”

Reluctantly, plaid-trench-and-tie straightened up.

Entering a brief stare-down with the guy, Dean found himself doing a sudden double take. “What the—did your—”

He could have sworn the guys eyes just changed from green to blue.

The creature, as Dean settled on thinking of it, tilted his head quizzically to one side. It was unsettling, a familiar motion on that not-right face. “Did what, Dean?”

“Your eyes changed color,” Dean practically accused, squinting suspiciously. “What the hell are you, you freaky son of a bitch, and how did you get in here?”

“I told you,” the creature said calmly. “You created me. It took a while for the magic to grow strong enough to manifest me, but, here I am!”

He twirled obnoxiously, the blue and green of the trench coat blurring together as he spun.

“Alright, this is—” Sam stepped forward suddenly, sighing and pinching at the bridge of his nose. He let out a calm, long breath and tried again. “Do you have a name?”

They were all crowded into Dean’s room still, and Dean made the executive decision to let his brother deal with the visitor while he located some damn pants, suddenly uncomfortably aware he had only a gun and a pair of old boxer-briefs to his name in that moment. _Waking me up and coffee-blocking me, stupid creature in his stupid coat,_ he thought.

“I do not,” the creature was saying, looking almost apologetically over at Sam.

“Okay. So, you said the magic manifested you—manifested what? I assume you mean the magic from yesterday, from the book?”

The creature nodded, waving a hand dismissively. “From the book, yes. Emotional personification, should have read it before you… well, read it.”

As if Sam was no matter at all, the man turned back to Dean, focusing on him almost dreamily.

They all watched as he just stared.

“Uh,” Dean said, locating yesterday’s jeans on the floor as fast as he could. “You’re making me crazy uncomfortable here, dude.”

The man just nodded, a satisfied smile on his face.

“How about we, uh, move this to the library so that Dean can, uh—” Cas gestured vaguely.

Dean noticed that the angel was a little pink. _Oh come on, you’re, like, millennia old,_ Dean thought grumpily. _You can’t be that horrified by my thighs and tummy pudge, geez._

The man fluttered his eyelashes, grinning almost wolfishly at Cas. “Are you sure, Cassie-baby?” he crooned obnoxiously, sidling up to him. He stood right up in Cas’ space, much like Cas himself was prone to do. “We could stay… watch… help…”

Despite the interested twitch that caused in one part of Dean, it caused a much more noticeable, burning-red-cheeks-kinda-thing in another part of him.

“Jesus Christ, GET OUT!” Dean yelled, waving his hands toward the door. “Lemme wake up without the commentary! Then we’ll see where sleaze ball here came from, and how to put him back.”

 

 

By the time Dean made it to the library, fully dressed and with his favorite gun firmly slotted into his waistband, their new visitor had made himself completely at home. He sat next to Castiel, turned sideways in his seat and leaning forward slightly into the angel’s space.

Dean squinted at him. Just because the angel had no sense of personal space, didn’t mean it was right for other people to take advantage of that, he decided, bristling.

Thank god, one of them had thought to put Dean’s favorite coffee mug at the head of the table, full to the brim with precious, black nectar. He drifted toward it, taking in the scene.

The red book they had taken from the witches’ house was on the table between everybody. Sam and Jack sat together, both wearing gloves. Jack was studiously reading through something in a large book of curses, and Sam was gazing at Cas, barely concealed amusement in his eyes.

Cas stared resolutely forward, but Dean could see an embarrassed-looking heat peeking out of his collar. It was pretty cute, actually, if he allowed himself to dwell on it…

The man turned his head to regard Dean as he lowered himself down at the head of the table, and his eyes smoothly transitioned to green again.

“Dude.” Dean blinked. “That is freaky, what the hell. What’s with the eye switching?”

His lip curled dangerously, his grin wicked and filthy as he leaned across the table, moving up into Dean’s space with a wink. “It changes depending on which of you is feeling it the most,” he stage-whispered.

Sam made a sharp, sudden choking noise.

Dean turned his head quickly, looking at his brother suspiciously as he sipped at his coffee. “Someone gonna tell me what I’m missing?”

The pink at Castiel’s neck began to reach his ears.

Sam snickered.

Jack, however, merely smiled proudly. “I found the correct page!” He announced. “It was a homebrew spell that one of the witches had made. I think this book”—he pointed to creepy red tome—“was her personal spell journal.”

“Good kid,” Dean smiled across at Jack, but he was still suspicious. “So?”

“The spell is designed to manifest an emotion or mental state that has recently affected the person it hits,” Jack said, like he was giving a damn book report. “It was designed, I believe, to give personification to negative emotions so that the bearer of those feelings could, in effect, talk to them. It’s like self-therapy.”

Dean blinked. “Huh. That’s actually kind of cool. So—” He paused, looking around the table. “—what’s with the weird vibe?”

“Ask him, Dean,” Sam finally spoke up. His voice was quivering as if he was desperately trying not to laugh. “As him what emotional state he is the manifestation of.”

Slowly, with a harsh beat in his chest thumping out _this is a trap, this is a trap,_ Dean turned to the creature. “W-what are you—”

Running a tongue along his lower lip, the man looked across at Dean from beneath his eyelashes. He leaned sideways, and reached across to touch Castiel’s arm as he practically snuggled into his side.

Something like a growl burst out of Dean’s chest unbidden, but he tamped it down as quickly as he could, embarrassed.

Cas squeezed his eyes shut, a picture of humiliation.

The man walked two fingers up Castiel’s bicep to his shoulder, giving a light giggle next to the angel’s ear. Then he turned his eyes back to Dean, and said calmly, “I am the personification of your unresolved sexual tension.”

Dean dropped his coffee mug.

If Cas hadn’t been sitting right there, a bundle of nervous angel-reflexes, it probably would have ended up all over the spell book. Luckily, his fingers wrapped around the mug just in time, and he slid it over toward Dean, refusing to meet his eye.

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean squeaked.

“We don’t have to call him a personification of ‘UST’,” Jack offered cheerily, complete with finger quotes. “Sam gave him a name.”

Dean turned to look at his brother, who was by then practically vibrating in his seat. Sam was having such a good fucking time. It looked like his birthday. Christmas. National kale day or some shit. He was beaming like Dean hadn’t seen since the great prank wars of yore.

He had a feeling in his stomach, like he was strapped into a roller coaster, headed for a huge drop.

And at the bottom of the drop were sharks.

Killer sharks.

With lasers.

“Sam…”

With just the utterance of his name, Sam lit up like a neon billboard outside a strip club. “Sorry, Dean. But there was really only one option.”

“You—”

“We called him Destiel.”

 

 

The metal shelving that lined the walls of the bunker’s industrial kitchen gave a screeching rattle as Dean shoved boxes and cans around roughly, protesting at his slightly tipsy use of force.

 _How’d we run out of the good whiskey on the worst day in freakin' ever,_ Dean thought morosely. _Not drunk yet but…definitely too buzzed to drive to the store for more._

_Cheap whiskey it is._

Looping two fingers and a thumb around the neck of the light, plastic bottle of brown liquor that he’d left on the kitchen counter, he dragged it up to his lips. Wincing, he gulped down a swallow of it before lowering the drink to his side, letting it swing back and forth next to his thigh as he began to walk back toward the war room.

The fact that his ridiculously unrequited crush on the angel had been outed by a witch—a dead witch at that!—was just the cherry on top of it all. How fucking dare she. And he couldn’t even kill her for it.

 _Fuckin’ resurrect her and kill her again,_ he fumed.

Cas hadn’t even been able to look at him. He was so embarrassed, he’d sat there getting redder and redder for the entire conversation. By the time Sam had explained, with unrestrained glee, to Jack what “Destiel” was, Cas had been entirely puce up to the top of his forehead.

_Oh God, I wanna die. Chuck, have some damn mercy, dude. Come down and take me._

He waited.

Chuck did not oblige.

Bastard.

“Dean?” Jack’s voice grabbed Dean’s attention from the doorway to the library. “Are you okay? You look very angry.”

“Yeah, kid,” Dean managed a half-hearted smile. “I’m good. Just embarrassed about the—y’know. The stuff with the guy.”

“You’re embarrassed about Destiel?” Jack questioned, a perplexed look puckering the skin under his blond bangs. “I am confused, why would you be embarrassed about him?”

“Because, y’know.” Dean flapped his fingers in the vague direction of the library tables, beyond Jack. “He was right freakin’ there!”

The frown deepened. “Destiel?” Jack asked.

“No, come on, Cas, Cas was there.” Dean deflated, his shoulders slumping. “I didn’t ever want him to find out. And finding out like this… well damn, this is just humiliating.”

Jack continued to eye him levelly, his bright blue eyes—just like Cas’, goddamn—darkened with a hint of confusion. “Castiel? Wasn’t it beneficial that he was there?”

Dean just stared at him. He knew the kid was kind of naive about some stuff, growing up in under six minutes would do that to a person, but Jesus Christ…

 _Something today better give me a Goddamn break_ , Dean thought.

“No, not beneficial,” Dean tried. “You know we talked about what Destiel means, yeah?”

“It means that you and Castiel wish to have sexual relations. Also, likely that you are in love with one another. Sam was very clear.”

Deans cheeks burned. “Yes, well, it was just revealed to Cas that’s truly how I feel, without any warning. It was pretty uncomfortable Jack, gotta say.”

Jack sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know why you are both being so embarrassed about it. Your bodies are natural, they—”

“Oh my God, Jack, please stop. I can’t hear this from a two-year-old, I can’t.”

The Nephilim looked pretty annoyed at that, but pursed his lips and seemed to let it go. He stepped away from Dean, his eyes drifting forlornly down to the whiskey bottle, but didn’t mention it.

Jack only made it three or four steps past the library door, before he suddenly stopped.

When he turned back to Dean, his face was lit up with understanding, wide-eyed and amazed, as if he’d suddenly solved a frustrating puzzle. “Dean!”

“Yes?” Dean asked cautiously. His day had been so fuckin’ weird, he was cautious of everything, especially smiling people.

“Oh, Dean,” Jack said, in a tone that made Dean’s back stiffen immediately. He sounded amused, almost pitying. Damnit, the kid sounded like Sam. “Oh, _Dean._ ”

“Alright, I’ve about had enough of this today—” Dean began, his frown building.

Jack laughed. Fucking damn it, the kid was laughing. Dean bristled further.

“Dean.” Jack sucked in a breath and shook his head. “What do you think that creature in there is?”

Dean sighed. This again? “It’s the personification of my unresolved sexual tension. Do you people just enjoy me saying it? Is that what this is?”

“No, Dean. That’s not what it is.” Jack smiled widely, that innocent, delighted smile that made him look even younger than he already did. “He’s the personification of _both of your_ unresolved sexual tension, Dean. The spell hit both of you, remember?”

Dean was momentarily struck dumb, which Jack seemed to think meant he needed more explanation.

“Remember what he said about his eyes, that they change color depending on…”

“Which one of us is feeling it most,” Dean finished for him in a dry croak.

“So…” Jack prompted carefully.

“Right. Both. Cas… he…” Dean wasn’t about to get those words out in front of what was essentially the angel’s kid, but they hung in the air anyway.

Apparently, Jack had no such qualms. With an eager grin, he held up a finger thoughtfully while he considered the correct response, then went with, “I believe the phrase I need here is, ‘go get ‘em, tiger.’”

“Jack. Stop.” Dean squeezed his eyes shut, as if that would somehow help, and began to push past Jack into the library. “Never, ever say that again. But, uh—yeah. Yeah, I will.”

 

 

Alright, so Dean hadn’t quite gone for it immediately.

He wasn’t that brave, Jesus. He’d go toe-to-toe with the devil, get through a year in purgatory, or even another family therapy session with God, but no way was he walking up to Cas and saying, “Hey buddy, you give me butterflies. Let’s bang.”

Instead, he walked into the library and through the stacks to where Sam and Castiel sat at one of the research tables. Cas had the gloves on now, carefully trailing a finger along the offensive page in the red, skin-bound spell book. Sam appeared to be looking up spell correspondences in a curse-breaking almanac they’d used many times before.

Destiel sat at the end of table between them, and as Dean entered his gaze rose up to fix solidly on him. Almost like he was deliberately taunting him, his eyes shifted green. “Why hello, Dean,” he simpered.

“What’s up…Destiel.” Dean forced the name out between gritted teeth.

“A good question,” the man said, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

To Dean’s right, in his seat at the edge of the table, Castiel’s shoulders slumped in what Dean guessed was embarrassment. He wondered if Cas was thinking the same as he had, that this was a one-sided thing—he remembered how awkward Cas had been any time someone hit on him, how even Rowena’s teasing comments flustered him.

If he straight up told Castiel the truth, there seemed to be a fairly moderate chance that the angel would run for the hills.

Great.

Dean’s heart smacked awkwardly at the back of his ribcage while he hovered near the table. God this was… oddly terrifying. He’d been ignoring this, hiding it for years, and it turned out—

“Dean?” Sam said, raising an eyebrow. “Are you just gonna stand there?”

“Uh, right.” Dean cleared his throat sharply and sat down next to Sam, so that he was opposite the empty space next to Cas. “How’s the research going? Any closer to getting rid of mister-hormones over there?”

Dean jerked his thumb at Destiel, who had returned to staring obviously at Cas with one finger touched to his own lower lip, like something from a cheesy romance movie.

Cas resolutely stared at the spell book.

“Well,” Sam said, “kinda. There’s no spell to undo it, or anything like that, and it’s a hard curse to break because the only way it’s supposed to be broken is by the affected party resolving their emotional difficulty.”

_Resolving their—oh Jesus._

“Wait—” Dean said suddenly, eyes wide. “Resolving—you don’t mean _with him_ , do you? Like, if he was the personification of grief I’d have to grieve with him, if he was the personification of anxiety I’d have to talk to him until…”

Dean trailed off, and realized every single person at the table was staring at him, even Cas.

He slithered down in his seat a few more inches, placing the plastic bottle of whiskey he still held down on the tabletop with a dull _thunk_. He shuffled it away from himself into the center of the table; it sure as hell wasn’t gonna help him now.

To his surprise, Cas’ hand darted forward and grabbed it. He brought the bottle to his lips without even looking at Dean, and chugged down the remaining third like it was complimentary lemonade.

When he lowered the empty container back to the table, his eyes finally met Dean’s, for the first time in hours.

They stared. Dean gulped awkwardly, Cas turned an attractive shade of fuchsia. They returned to their books.

“You guys are killing me,” Jack said from the doorway.

“Tell me about it,” said Destiel as Jack came across to the table to bury himself in research once more.

Dean threw a glare his way. “Any idea how long we have to put up with you? Are you gonna, like, expire or something?”

“Oh,” Destiel purred gleefully. “You’ll have to put up with me for years.”

“Heh,” scoffed Sam under his breath. “Why not, the rest of us had to—OW!”

Dean snapped his head to the side, confused, and then realized to his absolute delight that Cas had kicked Sam under the table. Unable to help himself, he gave out a low chuckle, and flicked his eyes back to the angel.

“Oh, yes,” purred Destiel enthusiastically, his eyes sliding to blue. “Laughter is good.”

Dean sighed. “Alright, what I don’t understand, is if you are the personification of sexual tension or whatever, why are you kinda douchey? That ain’t going to help you.”

“I am not!” Destiel exclaimed, placing a hand across his heart dramatically. “I am just a caricature with a mix of traits from each of you.”

Castiel tilted his head thoughtfully, looking at Destiel. “How so?”

“Well, if I’m wearing these tight ‘trying to get some ass’ jeans, it’s because one of you likes them…” The personification winked at Castiel, who ducked his head in embarrassment.

“The same with the tie,” Destiel continued, leaning in Dean’s direction, his voice dropping lower.

Dean flicked his eyes over to Cas self-consciously. The angel was looking awkwardly down at his own attire.

“The cocky smile, the staring. You have only yourselves to blame!” Destiel carried on speaking, obviously aware of what his little speech was doing, and quite pleased about it. “And I already explained my eyes—you horn dogs, you.”

Cas cleared his throat awkwardly and looked back down at the spell book. “Yes. Thank you.”

For a few moments, Dean sat and concentrated on breathing in through his nose, then out through his mouth. This was uncomfortable as hell, but there had to be—

Dean’s thoughts cut off sharply as he noticed Cas’ strong fingers lift from the spell book page in front of him. They glided through the air like they were in slow motion, before landing on the silky fabric of his tie, right below the knot. The tips of his fingers trailed almost sensuously down it—a very subtle motion, but damnit, Dean knew what he was seeing. Once Cas’ fingers had stroked the tie down to the bottom, they idly drifted back to the top. Where they wrapped around the fabric, and pulled. With a subtle tug, the tie snapped taut, at the same time that something in Dean’s brain snapped in unison.

Cas’ eyes rose up to Destiel just in time to see his eyes shift to green. The tiniest and most devilish of silent little smiles broke Cas’ stoic, casual expression.

 _You—you little shit_ , Dean thought.

Sam and Jack seemed to have decided they wanted no place in the conversation whatsoever, and began a whispered conference over exactly which line of the spell—which Sam had written out on copy paper—Jack had spoken, back in the witches’ house.

Dean tore his eyes from Cas somewhat reluctantly.

Well, two could play at that game. If Cas was getting on board with the idea that maybe Dean wanted something more than friendship—that was fantastic. But at least in this arena, Dean had the upper hand.

 _No one can out-flirt Dean Winchester,_ Dean thought smugly.

He watched as Castiel returned his attention to the hand-written spell in front of him, reaching the end of the page before he turned the thick parchment.

Smirking to himself, Dean casually pushed his chair back. He picked up one of the smaller curse-books from the table, and gave a serious look to the spine, before wandering around to the other side of the table in a show of fetching the next volume.

No one paid him any attention as he perused the shelves, picking out a couple more of the books they often pored over when it came to spell cases.

As he walked back behind Cas’ chair, he slowed. Placing his hand lightly on Cas’ left shoulder, he allowed his hand to trail very deliberately across the angel’s back as he leaned in, speaking quietly next to Cas’ ear as he brought the book around in front of him.

“Hey, Cas, did you try this yet?” He left his hand resting at the back of Cas’ neck, the pad of his thumb resting on the bare, tan skin above his collar. He tried to breathe evenly, not betraying how oddly nervous and excited he was, all at the same time.

 _Nervouscited_ , Dean thought distractedly. _I’m nervouscited._

Cas stiffened slightly under Dean’s touch, his eyes wide. “Did I try—oh, the compendium. Uh, no, Dean. I haven’t tried that yet.”

Dean’s smile was wolfish, deliberately showing Cas the same cocky little grin, full of pointy incisors, that Dean had noticed Destiel had. “You should try it. You might get lucky.”

With that, he dropped the book on the table in front of Cas, and walked back to his seat.

Destiel looked across at Dean with wide, blue eyes. He gave him a slow wink.

Alright, flirting with Cas was going to be fun. Being able to maybe, if the angel allowed, do more than flirt with Cas… that was going to be even more fun. But first, Dean decided, they simply had to get rid of that dude. Having a third wheel in his not-relationship was weird as fuck.

Closing his book, Dean turned his attention to Destiel, looking past Sam, who was nose-deep in a sheaf of papers with a kind of deliberate intensity that suggested to Dean he’d been exposed to one or the other of the minor flirtations a moment ago.

“Alright. Destiel. What’s the quickest way for us to, uh, resolve you? Let’s take one for the team here, because—” Dean stopped short, finding that he was still afraid to put words to any of this, but forced himself on through. “—Well, I think maybe Cas and I could use some privacy. Got stuff to, uh, discuss.”

_How does a badass Angel of the Lord look so cute when he blushes like that? Jesus._

“Yes,” Cas agreed, quiet but firm. “It appears we have some things to speak about, and it would be much less awkward without the third party.”

Destiel pouted. “Aww, spoilsport. Well, I’m afraid you have to involve me, if you want me to depart. How else will I know for sure that the emotions have been suitably resolved?”

Castiel and Destiel stared at each other for a long moment.

“Oh—oh.” Castiel reached up to pull at his neckline, wide-eyed. “I, uh, I see.”

Sam made a low snorting noise, and Dean made a mental note to make him pay for it later.

 

 

Rising from his seat, Destiel stood next to the table for a moment. He leaned his elbow on a stack of books, looking around at them all, taking stock with a familiar, slightly cocky smile. As if satisfied with something, he then turned his attention deliberately back to Castiel.

Once he’d caught him in his gaze, Destiel didn’t break eye contact with Cas for even a moment. He reached across to him, agonizingly slowly, to pull at his tie and tug their faces close. Then, with a sudden wink, he yanked the material forward, encouraging Cas out of his seat.

Still holding on to Cas’ tie, Destiel turned, grinning, and began to lead Cas away like he was reeling in a prize fish.

“Woah, woah!” Dean exclaimed. His stomach clenched, suddenly very unimpressed that Destiel had the balls to just grab what Dean wanted, right in front of him. “What the hell is going on here?”

Castiel sighed. “We need to get rid of him somehow, Dean,” he said, even as he was being tugged away through the stacks.

Sam jerked his head up. “No! Cas, NO! Not on the books, you dick! Gross!”

Dean found himself off his seat in an instant, bursting into the stacks after them.

“Alright you,” he growled at Destiel, jabbing a finger into his chest. “You might just be a spell, rather than a person, but that doesn’t mean I want to think about you, uh—”

He paused, realizing yet again what he was indicating.

Cas stood in the middle of the aisle between two of the tall bookshelves. “Dean,” he said quietly, “I just want to get rid of him. Perhaps if I, as you said, ‘take one for the team’ and resolve my sexual tension, he will be able to leave.”

Cas said it so plainly, but he did say it to the floor.

The explicit clarification from Cas’ own lips that this was just as much him as Dean, though, was all Dean needed.

“Cas,” he said, stepping up to him, stopping uncomfortably close.

Destiel just watched them, like a predator keeping its eyes on prey as it began to emerge from hibernation.

When the angel didn’t respond, Dean reached out to hook his curled forefinger under his chin, drawing his eyes back up. His mouth was full of cotton all of a sudden, rather than the dregs of not enough whiskey, but he forced out the words anyway.

“Kiss me.”

Cas’ wide, blue eyes grew increasingly wider. His gaze flickered over Dean’s face heavily, searching, eyebrows knotting, as if desperately searching for any, absolutely any, sign of doubt.

Dean tried to make sure he didn’t give him one, smiling nervously. “Do it. If you want to,” he clarified softly.

And that was how Dean ended up with his back against a bookcase, loose papers fluttering, drowning in the sudden understanding of how Meg had looked so dang _blown away_ by this; it was because kissing Cas was a hurricane, and Dean was just another lawn chair, flying off into the distance.

_Holy shit._

Cas’ lips were dry, his hands were up in Dean’s hair, his chest came forward and eliminated the space between them like he was trapping Dean in a vice; he tasted of clean air and fresh breezes, and something about him from so close smelled like iron, and feathers, and the burning smell that beautiful fireworks left in the breeze.

Somewhere in the distance, Sam’s traumatized voice announced that he could hear them, but it barely registered, overpowered by _Cas, Cas, Cas._

Dean gasped, finally getting air, and pulled in a deep breath to refill his lungs.

It was electric. All consuming. Everything.

“Cas…” he managed to get out, his own voice suddenly an octave lower than he remembered it being.

Castiel’s forehead rested against Dean’s, and he seemed to be out of breath too, his eyes closed for a moment as his shoulders raised and lowered.

For his part, Dean took the quiet moment to slip his hands up Castiel’s back, sliding his palms over the beige trench coat until he could tangle his fingers in the thick, wild hair he’d always wanted to touch. It was softer than expected, so soft (seriously, was he stealing Sam’s conditioner?) and he couldn’t resist the urge to curl his fingers into it, scratching at Cas’ scalp fondly, like a couple much more familiar than they currently were.

Cas, for his part, seemed to like it, letting out a soft humming sound as he angled his head back into Dean’s fingers, pushing back against his gently scratching nails. After enjoying it for a moment more, he opened his eyes.

“Hello, Dean,” he said, somewhat ridiculously.

Dean started to laugh, and Cas followed closely enough that they just leaned on each other and chuckled, warm and welcome and oh-so-easy.

“Oh, this is a fabulous start,” came a breathless voice only inches from their left.

“AHHH!” Dean shrieked as he jumped, having been kissed stupid enough that he’d momentarily forgotten Destiel even existed. Other than, now, in the… well, in the physical, real sense.

With that, the ease was broken, and Cas stepped back from Dean, clearing his throat and smoothing down his trench coat awkwardly.

“Aww, why so shy, fellas? Here, let me help you out,” Destiel teased mercilessly.

Before Dean knew what was happening, Destiel had him by the hand and Cas by the tie—oh God, he was actually dragging Cas by the tie—and was leading them back through the library, past a very disturbed Sam and a troublingly delighted Jack.

“Have fun,” Sam squeaked, attempting to joke but coming off mostly horrified. Probably due to the way he was clutching one of the curse books to his chest, like a shield.

“Enjoy your coitus!” Jack waved cheerfully.

 

 

They all ended up in Dean’s bedroom. Dean wasn’t sure when his brain forgot to apply the brakes, but it almost seemed a bit late now, with Destiel crowding Cas against the end of Dean’s bed and tugging Dean along behind them with one hand.

“Uh,” Dean cleared his throat, unable to take his eyes off Cas as Destiel’s fingers came up to tug at his tie, sliding the knot down until the fabric merely slithered to the floor at the foot of Dean’s bed.

Somehow, that tie coiled against the stark, concrete floor of his Men of Letters dorm was one of the most erotic things Dean had seen in a long, long time. It meant that Cas was in his room, and there was a distinct possibility he’d be naked soon.

 _Holy Hell._ Or Holy Heaven, he supposed.

Dragging his thoughts back up from the floor, Dean tried for clarity just one more time. “So, just to be clear what’s happening here,” he said, “am I about to be involved in a three-way with an angel and one of my own emotions, personified?”

Castiel looked at him over Destiel’s shoulder, while the other man was busy working his way down his dress shirt buttons. “It appears so,” he said calmly.

His voice didn’t betray any nervousness, but Dean knew the angel better than anyone in the universe, he’d wager. And besides, he had seen that wide-eyed, dazed look on his face before once, years ago. The angel might be more experienced than he had been then, but he was still out of his depth.

“Hey,” Dean said, stepping up and pushing Destiel’s hands to the side. “Let me do that.”

Dean took a deep breath. He settled the thudding of his heart as best he could, and cautiously raised his eyes up to Cas’ as he brought his fingers to rest on the middle of the angel’s chest. He rested them around the next closed button. “Is this okay?” he asked, hoping his own nerves didn’t show as much as Cas’ did.

Cas’ nod was jerky, breathless.

Dean’s hands shook as he traveled down the buttons, until the front of Cas’ shirt parted and hung loose.

There was no point either of them pretending they didn’t want this; Destiel was right fucking there, after all. But pushing past ten years of repression and denial wasn’t as easy as permission and rockin’ some book stacks, Dean discovered.

He was nervous. He’d never done this. This was Cas.

Oh fuck, this was Cas.

Destiel stepped back in, swooping between them like some kind of smutty savior. He had at some point removed the plaid coat, his tie, and even his shoes while Dean was busy with Cas. He smiled at Dean, seeming more gentle and helpful all of a sudden, rather than teasing.

Destiel’s fingers came to Dean’s shoulders, pushing under the fabric of his open burgundy shirt that he’d thrown on over his t-shirt that morning. Dean’s breath caught, but he found himself nodding as Destiel pushed it down his arms. “Yeah,” he said, still nodding. “Yeah, okay.”

Dean kicked off his own boots and pulled his own t-shirt over his head. He threw them over the desk chair, and by the time he turned back to the bed Cas was on it, sans any shirt at all, and Destiel was in much the same state, kneeling above him.

He watched as Destiel dipped his head down, his lips locking over Cas’ collarbone, causing Cas to throw his head back against the bed. He listened to the low moan that escaped Cas… and fucking hell, was that hot.

Dean wouldn’t call himself a voyeur by any means, but Cas was damn gorgeous, and seeing him spread out on Dean’s own bed, being warmed up by something that was technically half _him_ … Dean felt the front of his old jeans tightening.

And, he realized, unlike every other time that had happened while he’d been around Cas, it was okay. He rubbed the heel of his hand down over his zipper, just a light pressure as his gaze danced over the contours of Cas’ chest.

The best part, the unbelievably hot part, was the way Cas was looking at him.

His eyes were fixed unerringly on Dean as Destiel kissed and licked and nipped his way down Cas’ body; connecting every moment of it with Dean, every touch. It was an incredibly sexy sight, but the knowledge that he could walk over there and take over at any moment, that Cas _wanted_ him to… that’s what had his jeans pooling around his ankles, his hand gripping over his boxer-briefs, squeezing.

Cas raised a hand; his eyes darkened as he watched Dean’s fingers. He beckoned, and Dean’s feet obeyed even though Dean’s higher functions were totally offline.

He stumbled to the edge of the bed. Standing and looking down at Cas as he lay on his back, Dean could see damp trails from Destiel’s lips, the light reflecting off them and causing them to gleam across the angel’s chest and stomach. The personification was lower now, easing off the leather belt and dress pants that Cas’ vessel had come off the production line with, but Cas wasn’t paying him any attention. His eyes were fixed on Dean, on the motion of his hand as he squeezed and pressed at his cock through his underwear.

“Dean—” Cas managed, stopping to press his tongue to his lower lip. He gazed up at Dean, his hand lifted from the bed and reaching in Dean’s direction; a silent question.

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean nodded, agreeing eagerly. “You can touch, Cas. You can do whatever you want, okay?”

Cas’ hand came confidently to the front of Dean’s underwear, cupping over Dean’s swiftly-growing erection. It was so warm; Dean let out a breathless gasp, smiling down at Cas, nodding again.

 _Cas is okay with this part,_ Dean suddenly realized. _Nervous, maybe, but… the physical part doesn’t bother him. It was the emotional part that was holding him back._

Somehow that was a revelation, but it was lost in the feeling of Castiel’s strong, thick fingers wrapping around him through the fabric, giving his cock a lazy pump, his eyes locked on it. A sound escaped Dean’s mouth that he wasn’t proud of, but it brought Castiel’s hungry eyes back up to him, and that was worth it.

They stared, their mouths parted as their breathing slowly increased, wordless.

The _chink_ of Cas’ belt hitting the floor drew Dean’s attention, and as he looked down to where Destiel was kneeling between Cas’ legs, the sight made his breath shudder out in a loud, amazed gasp.

Cas was naked by then, his taut runner’s thighs displayed on Dean’s bed with the sheets wrinkled around them, as if they were meant to be there, amidst the fabric. Dark, curled hair between them led Dean’s eyes up to the magnificence of Cas’ red, thick cock, which twitched hopefully an inch or so from his stomach.

His whole world view changed with that sight.

He’d never thought of himself as bi, or really given much thought to cocks at all before Cas, but there he was, completely fucking gay for that cock. It was beautiful. He wanted to wrap his lips around it, bury his nose in those dark curls and fucking choke on it, taste the smooth head as it nudged the back of his throat—

“Fuck me, Castiel.”

It took Dean a second to realize that _wasn’t_ his own voice, but Destiel’s.

Cas was busy easing Dean’s navy boxer-briefs down around his thighs like they were something precious, and he didn’t respond until they fell the rest of the way to the floor. After watching Dean’s cock bob up and down in the air for a moment, Castiel slowly turned to look down at Destiel, before returning his gaze to Dean.

“Very well,” he said, like it was nothing.

Deans heart thundered in his chest; not at the way Cas agreed so casually, or the way he rolled to the side to make room for Destiel on the bed, but at the way he looked at _him_ when he said it, his eyes locked on Dean with that unerring, confident magnetism that they’d let sit between them, crackling and unfulfilled, for years.

“Just watch,” Destiel said to Dean, grinning up at him. He was on his front on the bed now, the dark jeans discarded somewhere along the line, his muscled ass on display as he arched up off the mattress.

Dean regarded it almost clinically, noting the swell of the cheeks and the tightness of the muscles. _Oof, yeah, that’s Cas’_ , he thought.

Taking his heavy cock back into his own hand as Cas kneeled on the bed, Dean nodded down at Destiel as he thrust his butt up in the air, getting his knees under himself. “Lube?” he managed to say. He pointed to the opposite nightstand. “There’s some in the top drawer—”

Cas reached over, grabbing it, before moving down behind Destiel. He studied the man for a minute, the way the personification was presenting to him, looking back over his shoulder coyly.

“Go ahead, Cas,” said Destiel. “You know you want to… I certainly know you want to.”

Still stood at the side of the bed, Dean stroked at himself almost idly, watching the proceedings curiously. He was so close, so close to that being him, and the temptation of it coiled low in his gut.

Cas didn’t reach for the lube, though. Positioning himself comfortably, he spread his own knees for balance before reaching out to press the palms of his hands to Destiel’s cheeks, parting them with his thumbs. He leaned in. Once again, he sought out Dean’s eyes, holding them as he darted his tongue out. Not looking away from Dean for even a moment, he leaned in, licking a long stripe between Destiel’s ass cheeks.

Dean’s mouth fell open in spite of himself, and his fist squeezed hard as his cock. “Oh—” he said, not bothering to be embarrassed at the noises he was making as he soaked in the sight.

Wet, messy, and loud, Cas worked into Destiel with a sloppy, determined tongue. The personification keened out, pushing his face down into the mattress as Cas ate him out hungrily. Dean moved closer to the end of the bed to get a better angle and watch the dribbles of saliva begin to leave ghostly, gleaming trails down the insides of Destiel’s thighs as Cas rimmed him near to death.

“Shit, Cas—” Dean gasped out, before biting down on his lip. He wasn’t going to ask how the angel learned such fucking hot, filthy habits; the dude had watched humans for eons, of course. But damn, he was going to let Cas know how sexy it was, and exactly how much he was looking forward to having that done to _him._ “So fucking hot, Cas…”

Cas raised his head then, his mouth red and wet from the sheer energy of his movements. He had kept throwing Dean looks the whole time he worked, and he did it again now, seeking out Dean’s face as he used the back of his hand to wipe his mouth. His chest was heaving, and Dean dwelled for a moment on his moving pectorals, delighted.

The click of the lube cap moved Dean’s eyes back to Cas’ hands, in time to see him dribbling it thickly between Destiel’s cheeks. The man on the bed hissed, no doubt at the change in temperature. Cas let out a low, soothing noise, chasing the trickles of lube with his fingers, rubbing them and warming the puffy, red flesh of the personification’s already stretched hole.

Dean groaned low in the back of his throat.

Edging his thumbs around Destiel’s fluttering muscles, Castiel slowly massaged and pushed until the tips of both thumbs disappeared inside. Destiel gasped, throwing his head back until his sandy, wild hair touched at his spine.

“Yes, Cas—please! More!” He cried out, gasping before he continued, “He feels so good, Dean! His hands, his tongue—fuck, so good….”

“I can see,” Dean whispered, his voice less cooperative than he’d have liked as he watched Castiel’s thumbs work Destiel’s rim, stretching him out in opposite directions, wide rather than long, his other fingers curled over the globes of Destiel’s ass cheeks.

“Would you want him to do this to you, Dean?” Destiel asked, coy and breathless. “Eat you out, open you up, show you the wild, hungry parts of him that no one else gets to see—”

“Fuck yeah,” Dean breathed out, his eyes flicking back up to Cas’ face. He was so calm, as intense about this as everything else, his own cock hanging neglected between his legs as he focused on Destiel. “Want you to do that to me, Cas. Lick me, stretch me, make me a fucking puppet on your fingers.”

Dean’s hand jerked much faster at his cock, the curling heat low in his stomach rising up to sit behind his belly button and radiate down.

Cas’ pupils seemed to expand impossibly further at Dean’s words. “Do you want to help me, Dean?” he rasped out, shuffling his knees over a few inches to the side, not stopping stretching for a moment.

 _This is it_ , he thought. _This is the moment where I jump in and I’m part of this, participating, not watching._

For a moment, he was rooted to the spot, some old fear he couldn’t name keeping him there.

Then Cas spoke up. “You don’t have to, Dean. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want; you don’t have to do anything at all. Not with me. I’d be honored to have you, with nothing at all in return.”

God, that was it. The fact that Dean was a huge damn sap underneath it all was laid bare for a moment, because it was _that_ which made him melt a little. The care, the simple devotion even if Cas never received anything in return. Dean felt his cheeks heat as he twisted his mouth up slightly, trying not to show how big and wide he was smiling. “Alright,” he said. “You got me with that one. But I do want to, okay? I want to do—well, damn, I want to do a lot of things with you, Cas.”

Chuckling breathlessly, Dean moved to kneel on the bed next to Cas, thigh to thigh. The tiny touch of skin was electric, sending a shudder through Dean.

Destiel bucked his hips up, needy, thrusting back onto Castiel’s thumbs. “Please,” he simply said, wrecked. “Please.”

Cas nodded down to the lube that had rolled against Dean’s knee as he climbed onto the mattress, and Dean knew what Cas wanted him to do.

He dribbled some more of the thick, clear fluid over Cas’ fingers as they moved, pouring a little into the hole they worked, gaping now, waiting to be filled. Then he slicked up two of his own fingers.

Dean poised them between Castiel’s thumbs, right at Destiel’s entrance.

Cas looked at him, and Dean looked back, and the heat of their stare was more than it had ever been, unable to look away from each other. They carried on looking, their lips parting; squelching noises filled the room as Dean began methodically fucking his fingers into Destiel.

Destiel cried out, and Dean figured he’d found the good spot, so he went at it mercilessly. He could hear Cas’ breathing next to him, erratic and loud, and he looked down to see that his cock was peeking up hopefully once more, resting against the inside of Destiel’s thigh.

“Cas! Please!” Destiel said, his voice shaking.

Dean drew his fingers back and Cas shifted, easing his thumbs out of Destiel’s slick ass. It waited, open, as Dean and Cas both pumped at themselves.

“Go on,” Dean said, not sure if he was encouraging Cas so that they could get rid of this personified version of their urges, or because it was so fucking hot watching Cas _take._

It took a moment of shuffling, Dean standing up from the bed and moving to the end of it, behind Cas, to give them space. Cas was on his knees, Destiel still face down in the bedding, shaking and begging.

When Cas slid home it was to the sounds of a gasp from all three of them; Dean’s hand flew over his cock frantically, unable to tear his eyes from the rippling muscles in Cas’ back as he pounded into Destiel.

“Yes! Yes!” Destiel was shameless, loud, and delighted. “What do you want now, Cas? Dean? What do you—”

He cut off, gasping, but the questions were clear.

Cas growled, deep in his chest, but his request was voiced confidently. “I want Dean to do this to me, while I do it to you.”

Dean blinked. _Holy fucking hell._ “You, uh—You want—”

“Please, Dean,” Cas _whined,_ and Dean was fucking done.

“Whatever you want, angel, whatever you want…”  Dean reached for the lube and poured a generous amount over them both, wasting no time.

Cas slowed in his thrusting, and Dean reached forward. He breath came out in a huff as he finally got his hands on Cas’ perfect ass. He trailed a finger down Cas’ crack, moving toward his hole, but Cas reached back with one hand, batting his hand away.

“Go ahead, Dean,” he said, his voice so low it created a whole new basement of desire for Dean. “I’m an angel—this isn’t going to hurt me.”

_Oh. Right._

Dazed, Dean lined himself up, Cas holding himself still—to Destiel’s whinnying protests—as Dean got into a comfortable position, stood at the end of the bed. He was poised, the head of his dick nudged solidly between his ass cheeks, right on the precipice.

“Cas?” Dean said, his voice shaking.

“Yes?” Cas sounded desperate, and Dean could feel him subtly shifting himself back against Dean’s cock.

Something in Dean paused.

It was stupid. This wasn’t good timing. But somehow… Dean had to ask, had to check.

“After—after Destiel is gone. Would you wanna, maybe go on a date with me?”

The bastard started _laughing._

“Hey!” Dean said, reaching down to smack at Cas’ ass cheek. “Not cool, don’t laugh at me when I’m trying to ask you to be my boyfriend here. My cock is resting on your ass, I’m fragile right now.”

“Dean!” Destiel growled. “Shut up and fuck!”

In a feat of acrobatics Dean wasn’t sure he’d ever forget, Cas pushed his hips back to rut against Dean’s cock, forcing him to pop past his entrance. At the same time, he twisted his head back to look at Dean, and reached back for him with the hand he didn’t have on Destiel’s hip, pulling them together. Cas crashed their lips together, firmly.

“Yes, Dean. I would like that. But for now, please let’s continue.”

_Oh, thank God._

Sinking deep in Castiel’s slick, tight heat, Dean was suddenly incredibly aware that the ‘after’ he’d required that date for might be coming sooner, rather than later. “Fuck, Cas, you feel so good—” he cut off sharply, devolving into a moan that came from the very bottom of his ribcage.

Cas seemed speechless at the sensation, dipping his head forward away from Dean, and pulling at Destiel’s hips hard enough to yank him back against him, burying himself inside.

It wasn’t elegant; loud slapping and grunting filling the room as Dean thrust forward, the motion passing from one man to the next like a pendulum swinging back and forth through them.

“So close,” Dean grunted, the amount of time he’d spent with his cock in his hand suddenly a regret. The sheer heat of Castiel’s muscles around him almost caused him to lose it, right then.

Castiel was panting heavily, but Destiel managed a coherent answer, gasped as it was into Dean’s pillow.

“Yes, Dean! Come, fill him up—that’s what you need, Dean, that’s what will—”

His voice simply stopped as Dean’s vision blurred, heat and want and sensation flooding through him as he spilled deep inside Cas’ ass. “Oh shit, oh—fuck—Cas—”

He could hear Cas saying his name, but it all got a bit lost as they stumbled forward; Cas suddenly landed on the bed, the body that had been supporting him gone.

Dean’s knees gave out and he suddenly knelt on the mattress. Luckily, he had just enough strength in his arms to catch himself before he smacked his face into the plane of Cas’ shoulder blade.

“He—” Dean panted, shaking away the warm, fuzzy feeling from his head. “He’s gone.”

“Yes, Dean,” Cas said, sounding like he’d been inhaling helium. “He is gone. And I didn’t come yet.”

Dean couldn’t help it, he laughed, and as Castiel rolled into his back, Dean crawled up the mattress after him.

Looking down at Castiel’s totally wrecked expression, his flushed cheeks and wild hair, his pupils blown and dark, Dean grinned. He leaned in, pressing his lips gently to the angel’s forehead. “It’s okay,” he said. “I’ll help you with that.”

Castiel gave a relieved sigh as Dean headed back down the bed to fulfill his earlier fantasy of choking on that beautiful, beautiful cock.

 

 

It was early, Dean knew that much; there was no natural light in the bunker, so he didn’t exactly wake with the sunrise, but he was also pretty good at gauging what time was, regardless. He shifted on the mattress, reaching to grab his phone and look for the time.

“It’s six fifteen,” a lazy, content voice behind him said.

Dean grinned and rolled all the way over to his other side. “Morning, sunshine. You been here all night?”

Cas gave a little smile, lifting his head to plump up the pillow beneath it. “I’ve seen enough of the romantic comedies you pretend you don’t watch to know that leaving someone’s room in the middle of the night after sex is considered bad form.”

Dean chuckled, reaching up to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck. “Well, yeah. I’ll admit, I would have probably freaked out if you weren’t here.”

Cas merely smiled serenely. “It’s good that I am here, then. Though I can go and start making some coffee, if you’d like.”

“Coffee sounds good”—Dean reached out to grab at Cas’ arm, stopping him as he’d already begun to roll away—“but first, can we, uh, talk a bit?”

“Of course,” Cas said, settling back onto his pillow with his hands tucked adorably under his cheek. His brow, however, pulled into a wrinkle of concern. “Though usually, you avoid such things, so now I am concerned.”

“No, no—don’t be,” Dean clarified immediately. He brought his hand up out of the tangle of blankets, causing a small draft and revealing a few inches of Cas’ solid, tanned chest in the process. They’d both pulled their underwear back on before Dean had fallen asleep, but that had been about it. He lay his hand on the mattress, palm up, inviting.

Why was this so much harder this morning than it had been last night?

Cas stared at his hand in puzzlement for a beat, but then got with the program, bringing his own up to entwine his fingers with Dean’s. It was a simple, chaste, yet oddly intimate gesture.

“I’m really sorry that this all happened like it did, Cas,” Dean began, letting his eyes rest on their hands rather than looking directly at Cas.

“It wasn’t your fault, Dean. The spell was written by the witch, let’s lay the blame there.”

“Right, I know. I just—it doesn’t seem fair. If you didn’t want me to know about the, uh, ‘unresolved sexual tension’ on your side, you shouldn’t have been forced into it like that.”

Cas shifted lightly against the mattress for a minute, a nervous gesture.

Dean did his best to wait him out, give him space to process and speak, and eventually he was rewarded.

“For a supposedly worldly creature, I am not very well versed in human relationships, Dean. You know that. My feelings for you were a mystery for a long time, and then I simply assumed them unrequited. It wasn’t, as you suggested, that I didn’t want you to know. I just didn’t realize it would matter if you did.”

Dean could feel the besotted smile that pulled at his face, quirking his cheeks up crookedly. The part of him that complained about chick-flick moments and refused to eat avocados or admit that he’d steal Sam’s hair stuff on occasion, the part his Dad made, tried to push the smile down. Tried to tell him he was being stupid, emotional, ridiculous. That a Winchester wouldn’t be so dang sappy, wouldn’t react to such simple, honestly spoken words. But the rest of him, thank God the _better_ part of him, was stronger.

This was Cas. And Cas wanted this, wanted him, had _feelings_ for him. And that was fucking amazing.

Cas, for his part, studied the smile on Dean’s face with an open, soft affection. “My feelings make you happy,” he deduced, a look of amazement drifting across his eyes.

“Fuck yes, Cas. I’ve—I mean, feelings, for you, shit, I—” Dean babbled and bumbled for a minute, before shaking his head and squeezing his eyes shut. He laughed at himself. “I’m really bad at this.”

Castiel’s chuckle was low, and Dean longed to press himself to his chest to feel it vibrate against him. But he didn’t. There would be time for that later.

“If you wish to maintain any kind of relationship with me Dean, beyond the friendship we’ve had, I must warn you that if you are bad at it, I am going to be a spectacular disaster. I will do things wrong, I won’t understand your customs, and I will make huge mistakes, as seems to be my path in life.”

Dean laughed then, letting go of Castiel’s hand so that he could reach across to wrap his arm around the angel’s chest, cutting down the gap between them, suddenly too much space. Cas responded naturally, shuffling closer in turn, until they were in each other’s arms.

“We’ll work it out, Cas,” Dean promised. “Together.”

Cas nodded against Dean’s cheek, all stubble and warmth. “I would like that.”

“So you’re saying you want to date me, Cas? Gonna be my boyfriend, let me love you, let me kiss you whenever I want?”

God, he could imagine his Dad’s face if he heard all that. Sticking up a mental middle finger, he drew back just enough to see Castiel’s wide, gummy smile, and it was worth every scary word.

“Yes, Dean. As long as you let me love you, too.”

“Deal.”

“Now,” Cas said, “perhaps we should get up, and go tell Sam and Jack that Destiel is gone?”

“Destiel isn’t gone,” Dean said, grinning goofily. “Destiel is just beginning.”


End file.
